| Now, to retire from whence our Rimes doe range |
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| The Knowledge of the Soule, and of her Powres |
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| Here, Muse, crave licence for a maine digresse |
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| And here my Muse leads me as bythe hand |
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| Edward the fourth thus having caught the Crown |
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| Now, brifly t' recollect what we have sedd |
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| Returne my Muse from whence thou hast digrest |
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| Now may we range next to the Ranke of love |
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| Thus having toucht th' Affections most humane |
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| Now from unloving Ire doth Hatred spring |
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